


Of Dates and Daydreams

by tuesday



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell scrubbed a hand awkwardly through his hair, adding river muck to the ectoplasm.  He was strongly considering jumping into the river again, but on purpose this time.  "This, uh, did not go according to plan."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Dates and Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/gifts).



When he was younger, Maxwell was fascinated with elemental magic. He indulged himself with the occasional daydreams of battle, shocking hordes of faceless enemies into immobility, freezing individual monsters solid for his compatriots to shatter, summoning huge walls of flame to ward off entire armies. In these daydreams, he was powerful and pristine even in the midst of the battlefield, gorgeous, stylish, untouchable.

Maxwell may have been a prodigy in battle magic, but these dreams did not prepare him for the realities of scuffles and skirmishes, much less a full-out war. He had yet to make it through a single fight without incurring a single injury, much less keep his robes clean. More often than not, he ended up spattered in a mix of mud, blood, and other, less pleasant things. 

Case in point: this very moment, staff covered in river muck, and ectoplasm somehow having ended up in his _hair_.

In his erstwhile daydreams, he had not a strand of hair out of place, and this was the moment where the love interest would swoon into his arms over his dramatic heroics.

"You really know how to show a man a good time." Dorian leaned on his own staff, the damage limited to mud soaking the hem of his robes. His hair was mussed, but he was unfairly sexy post-battle (. . . and pre-battle, and during battle). "When you said you wanted to take a walk to hunt for herbs, I must admit, I expected something a touch—" Dorian's expression said, _less horrific_ , but after a telling pause, he continued with a diplomatic, "—different."

Maxwell scrubbed a hand awkwardly through his hair, adding river muck to the ectoplasm. He was strongly considering jumping into the river again, but on purpose this time. "This, uh, did not go according to plan."

"Oh?" Dorian sauntered closer. He plucked a dark red petal from Maxwell's cheek. "But we found plenty of blood lotus for the Inquisition's stores."

Maxwell had to concede this point, as he had, indeed, found plenty—face first. "And yet, that's not quite why I asked you to join me."

Dorian's smirk went crooked, a little more genuine, but he said, "With your penchant for finding Rifts, it's no surprise you wanted a little back-up."

"Mm, yes, that's why I asked another mage. That, and you're prettier than Cassandra."

Dorian winked. "I live to serve."

"Do you?" Maxwell's voice was considering as he reached a hand out toward Dorian's shoulder—paused—reconsidered. 

Dorian huffed a breath like laughter swallowed. He didn't hesitate to reel Maxwell in, filth and all. "You know the lovely thing about getting dirty?"

Maxwell heroically suppressed several crude jokes about just how lovely it was to get Dorian dirty. "The excuse to lounge in the baths as long as you'd like?" 

"The excuse to lounge in the baths as long as I'd like _with you_."

When he was younger, Maxwell would never have pictured the aftermath of battle to be this way. His ankle was sore from the fall. He was still bleeding sluggishly from a minor cut on his temple and a split lip. His robes might well never recover. No bath would be long enough to erase the memory of the smell.

Dorian pressed Maxwell down beside the river's bank and pressed kisses to his bloody skin. Maxwell found reality, in all its brutal glory, to be better than any childish daydream.


End file.
